Skin
by undertheclouds
Summary: Life was never a cakewalk for Sarabeth, but then again, life was never easy for a greaser. But Sarabeth was different than the other greaser girls; She had leukemia. She always had something more important to worry about.
1. Chapter One

**DISCLAIMER: **I do not own _The Outsiders._ I am not pretending to. The other thing I own is Sarabeth.

* * *

The sky was a dull, lifeless gray, the type of gray that is too light to storm, but just dark enough plaster your face with a frown.

Sarabeth had the "dull gray" frown to a science. Her mousy, brown hair blended in with all the other girls'. Her clothes, though not name brand, were in decent shape. She was every sense of the word average. But her eyes, her eyes, they said otherwise.

Something behind those eyes told a different story. They talked of hardships and failure. Of hopelessness and defeat. Those eyes, said more than she ever would.

Walking home from school, Sarabeth held her books so tight against her chest, her knuckles turned white. She always seemed to hold onto things a little too tight, whether it was her school books or past memories, Sarabeth had a hard time letting things go.

Her dark drown eyes were focused on the pavement as she reached her neighborhood. She was lower-middle class, or more commonly referred to as a greaser. She was a nice looking girl, not too tough or intimidating, but no doubt about it, she was a greaser. Her hair was always slicked back in a tight ponytail and a small scowl was always etched on her lips. But social class never bothered Sarabeth. No, she had more important things to worry about.

Looking up, she found she was on Washington Ave. _Two blocks to go,_ she sighed, locking her gaze on the concrete once more.

She could see her house on the horizon, and she picked up her pace, happy to be home from a hard day of school. Her house was old, and like most of the houses in her neighborhood, broken-down. Though most didn't realize it, the seemingly gray house was actually a vibrant shade of white... or at least it was. Years or wear and tear tired the old house into a dull gray, sucking the life out of it. Parts of the roof shingles were missing, and most of the shutters were gone, but Sarabeth and her mother didn't care. It was their home.

Feeling the first few shots of drizzle, Sarabeth quickly skipped up the steps. She opened the door and swiftly shut and locked the door behind her.

"Mom?" She asked walking into the kitchen, dropping her books onto the table. Doing a quick search of the house, she discovered a note her mother had left.

_Sarabeth,_

_Last minute change in schedule. Working late. _

_Mom._

"Great," she groaned, walking into the living room. Walking past the coffee table, her calf caught the corner, causing her to lose her balance and fall to the floor.

"Shit!" She yelled, as she looked at her leg to see the damage. A small, yet noticeable bruise was forming. She tenderly touched it, and winced at the throbing.

Alone and in pain, Sarabeth moved herself onto the couch to start her homework.

She always had more important things to worry about.

* * *

Yay. New story. I am extremely sorry for the epically lame start. I'm trying so hard not to make this charater a Mary Sue.

Well, anyways... Reviews are appreciated, constructive critism is appreciated, but flames, or other harsh comments are not. Thank you!

And I would really, really love a beta. That would be lovely.

:)

-Alaina


	2. Chapter Two

**I do not own The Outsiders or anything you recognize. I only own Sarabeth & co.**

"Sarabeth?"

The noise of my mothers harsh, raspy voice echoed through the house, jolting me from my slumber. My eyes slowly opened to find my school work unfinished, piled nicely on of the table, as though it were patiently waiting for me. "I'm in the living room."

Her heels rhythmically clicked as she crossed the kitchen into the living room. "I'm home."

_No kidding?_ I thought shrewdly. The aroma that she gave off was nauseating; she smelled like greasy food, stale cigarette smoke, and the lingering, bitter scent of alcohol. Working in a sleazy highway diner, there were no rules on what could or couldn't be consumed.

"Sorry kiddo, I had to take the extra shift. We need the money." Her face was creased with tiny wrinkles which made her look much older than she was. Like most greasers, she had been forced to grow up at a very young age, and it showed in her tired, worn-out face.

My mother gave birth to me when she was 17. It was her first day of work at the diner, and she pulled out all the stops. She was a beautiful young girl, and the lonely cross-country truck drivers took notice. Nine months later, I was born.

"S'alright, I understand," I sighed, forcing a smile. I picked up my math book and turned to the homework page. _A Review of Long Division._ Inwardly groaning, I started on the first problem.

As I completed more equations, my focus slipped rapidly, and I felt exhausted. I could feel the formulas and equations melting away in my brain, and I could only focus on how _tired_ I was. Before I knew it, I was back in my dreamland, escaping reality.

"Sarabeth." My mother gently shook me. "Sarabeth, wake up!"

My eyes fluttered open. "How long have I been sleeping?" I demanded. My heart sunk as I looked out of the window and saw nothing but black sky.

"About twenty minutes," my mother said slowly, watching me with concerned eyes. She sat up and walked over to me. A cool hand was placed on my forehead, but almost instantly pulled away. "You're burning up!"

I shrugged. "It's just a fever. I'm probably just getting the flu or something. Nothing to worry about," I told her nonchalantly. I gave her my most convincing smile. "Besides, we don't have the money."

"I'm still making a doctor's appointment. We can't take any chances. You know this, Sarabeth. Don't worry about the cost. I can handle this."

The corners of my mouth tugged into a frown, and I felt my stomach clench painfully. "I suppose. But please don't make it tomorrow. I have too many tests. I don't want to have to make them up."

She nodded. "Deal. Now take it easy, alright? I'm beat. I'll see you tomorrow morning." With these final words, she headed to her bedroom and shut the door behind her.

"'Night Mom," I yawned.

Giving up on math, I attempted to pick up my biology book. My attempts to pick it up one handed were futile. I didn't see the point in doing homework in this state. What would be worse – doing it completely wrong, or not doing it at all? Well, it would save me some energy. . .

"I guess my homework will have to wait until the morning," I told myself under my breath. I picked myself off of the couch and slowly drifted to my room. I reluctantly changed my alarm from _6:45 _to _5:00_. Nestled under my covers, sleep found me quickly. I was off to my dream world, a place where everything was perfect. I danced under the moonlight and the stars without a care in the world as a healthy, beautiful girl – a girl with sparkling eyes and glossy, long hair – a girl without any worrying about school, disease, or even just getting through the day.

Boy, did I wish that was reality.

* * *

The next day at school was. . .difficult, to say the least. Even though I had had substantial amounts of sleep the day before, I couldn't keep my eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time. My arms felt like jell-o; I could barely carry my books. My aching head roared its disapproval for being forced to pay attention, feeling like it was going to split open at any moment. Finally, the final class was over.

I stopped at my locker before heading home. I tried to put my books into my locker, but my body wasn't cooperating. My English book and folder fell out of my grasp and flew all over the ground. Perspiration formed on the back of my neck as I dropped to my knees in exhaustion. I started gathering my papers.

After collecting all of my work, I used all of my strength to stand on my two feet. Turning back to my locker, I noticed my English book cozied on top of my Biology book. I raised one eyebrow in confusion, but hell, I wasn't going to complain.

"Long time no see," a slick voice said. I glanced to my left to find a tall, dark boy. His chestnut hair was smoothed back with too much hair grease, and he was slouching slightly, with a slight smirk on his face that shone with cocky intelligence.

"Hi Steve," I said, a sincere smile gracing my features. I had the pleasure of meeting Steve last year in math class; he sat behind me, copying my answers. After confronting him, he sweet talked me into forgiving him. But boy, was he a looker!

"Hey kid, you're not lookin' so good," he said coolly, concerned hesitance showing in his face. He leaned against the nearby lookers, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. "It looks like you just saw a ghost."

"English drains the life out of me, what can I say?" I laughed, hoping to brush it off. "Well, I think I better head home. See ya, Steve." I turned on my heal to walk away, but Steve started walking next to me, his long strides keeping up easily with my fast-paced steps.

"You want me to give ya a lift? I'm borrowin' my buddy's car. He wants me to fix it up after school, but I could still take ya home."

At first I felt like laughing. Did I really look _that _bad, that Steve Randle was offering me a ride home? But then I hesitated. Steve was someone I had admired for years, but we weren't exactly 'friends'. Acquaintances fit us better. I continued walking down the hall, becoming slower with every step. I wasn't sure if I would make it home by dark at this rate.

"I'd like that."

We walked to the parking lot in an uncomfortable silence. I was a little confused with Steve's sudden kindness, but I brushed it off, convincing myself that he only wanted to show off his friend's car.

Steve got into the drivers and motioned for me to step back. He kicked the inside of the door, and it flew open. I quickly slid in, grateful to be sitting down. I moved to close the door, but Steve interrupted me.

"Don't bother. The only way you're gonna close that door is if you have a running start."

He started up the engine, making the car roar to life. Flooring it, we sped out of the parking lot.

"You better hold on tight," he said, smirking. He stepped on the brakes, causing to car to almost immediately stop. The car door slammed shut.

"Well, that's one way to do it," I said, sinking back into my seat, feeling sick. Whether it was from Steve's reckless driving, or from an illness I'll never know.

"Steve? Can I open my window? I'm not feeling to good," I asked, my eyes closed.

"Go ahead," he said. Turning to look at me he half-shouted, "Sarabeth, you look dead! We're gonna make a quick stop at the DX and get you some water or somethin' to get some color in you. I can't have you passin' out in my buddy's car."

He made a quick right and continued to speed down the road.

"Can you just take me home?" I said in a small voice. No matter how friendly he was being toward me, he was intimidating nonetheless.

"Too late now," he said as we pulled into the DX. Driving around to the back of the station, he stopped the car and killed the engine.

"It'll probably be easier if you just scoot out on my side," he told me, getting out of the car himself. Waiting for me to get to the drivers seat, he grabbed my upper arm and helped me out of the car. I winced at his firm grasp.

"Oh, sorry. I guess I just don't know my own strength," he said, chuckling.

"A regular superman you are." I smiled at my feeble joke, as we started to walk to the entrance.

"Hey buddy," he said, patting a good-looking boy about my age on the back. The boy looked up at Steve and grinned.

"You don't have to work until five. What's the deal?" he asked Steve.

"I'm taking a friend home from school. She's not lookin' too good. I thought we'd stop and get her something to drink so she doesn't pass out." Steve walked over to the refrigerator revealing me.

"You feelin' okay?" The boy raised his eyebrows at my pallor appearance. I nodded slowly, aching all over.

"Soda this is Sarabeth, Sarabeth this is Sodapop," Steve said while he closed the refrigerator door. He held two Cokes in his hand. He popped the tops off of both and handed me one.

Sodapop? Where had I heard _that _before? He certainly did look familiar. Normally, I would've noticed how good-looking he was – with dark-golden hair and bright brown eyes. Normally, I would've questioned why he wasn't in school. Normally, I would've wondered why '_Sodapop'_? But right then and there, my main concern wasto stay awake, and to get home in one piece before something bad happened.

"We better get going. See you later, Soda," Steve said as he walked to the door.

"Yeah, alright, man. Bye Sarabeth, I hope you feel better soon," Soda said awkwardly.

I mustered up a small "Thanks" as I followed Steve out the door.

After the mildly amusing routine of opening and closing the car door, we were on the road to my house.

I let my head fall back on the seat. I tried my hardest to stay awake, but my eyes kept fluttering open and closed. _Maybe I'll just rest my eyes for a minute._

I could feel myself succumbing to the darkness of my eyelids. _Stay awake, stay awake_, I kept telling myself.

My last thought before I involuntarily dozed off was_, "Steve will kill me if I spill this Coke."_

* * *

A huuuge thanks to TheNightimeSky for being my beta.

And yes, I did do my research.


End file.
